


season of sweetness

by elouanwrites



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Blyla, Everyone lives/Nobody dies, Except Sheev, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Life day, Post War, because this is a tanker of maple syrup, i hope you like sap, meet the parents, sheev definitely died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elouanwrites/pseuds/elouanwrites
Summary: There was absolutely no reason for his palms to be sweating. He’d faced far more intimidating things thandinnerin the war, all this anxious fidgeting over a simple meal was utterly ridiculous.
Relationships: Aayla Secura & Quinlan Vos, CC-5052 | Bly & Quinlan Vos, CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Comments: 21
Kudos: 83
Collections: Star Wars Secret Santa 2020





	season of sweetness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amukmuk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amukmuk/gifts).



> secret santa fic for amukmuk I HOPE YOU LIKE FLUFF FAM lkjffglskfhjhb

* * *

Bly subtly wiped his sweaty palms on his pants one at a time, shifting the bottle of Soulean brandy and pair of wrapped packages from one arm to the other to free them. He rocked back on his heels nervously as he stared at the perfectly innocuous door in front of him, with its beautiful curling decorative symbol that was distinctly _Aayla_ , and his face twisted into a grimace. There was absolutely no reason for his palms to be sweating. He’d faced far more intimidating things than _dinner_ in the war, all this anxious fidgeting over a simple meal was utterly ridiculous.

Then again, maybe it was completely normal to be a twitchy wreck when meeting his partner’s sort-of-parent in a casual setting for the first time, what did he know? It’s not like he had anything even vaguely resembling experience with a situation like this. Where would he even have gotten any?

Bly took a deep, fortifying breath, smoothed down the front of his new civilian shirt one last time, and reached out to touch the sensor pad next to the door. A soft bell tone sounded from the other side. It opened far sooner than he expected, and he almost startled away, but managed to restrain himself to a faint flinch. Fortunately it was Aayla who answered, not her master, so he had a few more moments to prepare himself.

She was smiling, all the lines of stress and the heavy weight of responsibility that he was so used to seeing on her face washed away. Peace looked beautiful on her. So did the loose gold sweater she was wearing over shimmery white leggings, and his fingers itched to reach out and see if it was as soft as it looked.

"Right on time, as always," she said warmly, her eyes running over his frame in her habitual check for any injuries he might have received since she saw him last. Although Bly fancied that maybe her gaze lingered a bit more than usual. He hoped it did, anyway. He _had_ tried to pick clothes he thought she might like. The color of his shirt was as close a match to her eyes as he could find, and the buttons were the same gold as the stripes on his cheeks. Incidentally, the same gold as her sweater, which gave Bly a feeling deep in his chest that he didn’t have a name for.

"Hello, Sir," he said quietly. Just the sight of her, happy and warm and welcoming, had the tension melting out of his frame, and he smiled back at her helplessly.

" _Aayla,_ Bly," she chided, her lips still curved in a gentle arc, the soft pink of them drawing his gaze unfailingly. "I'm not a general anymore, remember?"

He jerked his eyes back to hers and ducked his head slightly, suddenly sheepish. "Right, sorry Si—Aayla. Habit."

"It has only been a week since the treaties were signed,” she said ruefully. "There are many changes to get used to. I'm happy to remind you as much as you need. Now please, come in. Dinner is almost ready, I’m just finishing up." She reached out and took his free hand, tugging gently to lead him into her quarters. Her rooms in the temple weren't new territory, at least, even though they looked very different all prettied up for the approaching Life Day, so just entering didn't ratchet up his anxiety.

No, that was handled quite neatly by the sight of the intimidating kiffar dressed in dark tabards lounging on Aayla's couch, his qukuuf a splash of bright gold and the green and gold beads in his hair standing out as the only color on him. He was smiling slightly. It was not reassuring, particularly as Aayla abandoned him to return to the kitchen. He let her hand slide out of his, manfully refraining from just...following her, and turned toward his doom.

Bly deposited his two packages under the small wroshyr tree next to the table then thrust the bottle of brandy out in front of himself, almost defensively, firmly repressing the urge to snap to attention. “Gen—Master Vos, good evening,” he stammered out, feeling his cheeks warm slightly.

One of Vos’ brows raised ever so slightly as he stood to take the bottle from his hand. “Good evening, Commander Bly,” he replied smoothly. “I’m glad you could join us, I’ve been wanting to get to know you better. Although,” he added, his lips quirking up higher and his voice raising enough to carry as far as the small kitchen, “I feel as though I already do with how much Aayla talks about you.”

“ _Master!_ ” Aayla popped her head around the door to frown quellingly, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. Vos just grinned, eyes still locked on Bly, utterly shameless.

Bly swallowed, feeling his palms sweating again but unwilling to wipe them with that glittering, amused gaze still on him. “Just Bly is fine, Master Vos,” he said as calmly as he was able. “With the decommissioning of the GAR I don’t really have a rank anymore.”

Vos hummed thoughtfully, setting the bottle on the table and sitting back down. “Bly, then. Call me Quinlan,” he said with another flash of his teeth. “No need for formality, we’re all friends here aren’t we?”

Oh gods. Vos disapproved of him, he knew it. “Yes, of course,” he said, hesitantly lowering himself to perch on the edge of the chair across from Vos...no, _Quinlan_. Kriff, that would take some getting used to. He wasn’t sure he could manage it, considering how long it had taken for him to be comfortable addressing Aayla so informally, even in private.

“So! What are your plans now that you’re a free man, Bly?” Vos leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. His expression was intent, focused, and Bly felt much like a tumblepup under the eyes of an akk wolf.

“I’m going to be taking up the Order’s offer of employment. It seemed the best fit for my skill-set.” Bly cast a quick glance over at the kitchen, hoping to see Aayla coming back out to save him from this extremely uncomfortable conversation, but no such luck. He turned back to Vos to see him looking contemplative, head cocked to one side and gaze assessing.

“ _Which_ offer,” he asked. “The one to act as a partner to jedi on missions, the one to guard the temples, or the offer of employment with one of the corps?”

Bly swallowed nervously, very carefully not giving in to the urge to fidget under Vos’ laser focus. “Th-the first one, sir. Quinlan, sorry.” Vos’ eyes narrowed slightly, and he tilted his head to the other side. Bly twitched. He definitely disapproved. _Kriff_.

“ _In-_ ter-est-ing,” Vos drawled slowly, the low tone threatening to send a shudder up Bly’s spine.

Aayla came back out of the kitchen just in time to hear him, and gave Vos a wounded look strong enough to make Bly wince, and it wasn’t even directed at him. “By the _force,_ Master, you said you would be _nice_!”

Vos laughed suddenly, a bright, joyous sound that Bly would never have expected to come from him. “I’m just teasing him, Aayla,” he said, no trace of his former intensity visible, nothing on his face but warmth and amusement. “I couldn’t resist, I’m sorry.”

Bly stared blankly, thoughts suddenly evaporating from his mind. Teasing? Vos, teasing _Bly?_ ...What?

* * *

Aayla sighed, fondly exasperated. Her master did look like he felt at least a _little_ bit bad. Poor Bly looked absolutely bewildered. He’d just been so uncharacteristically nervous that Quinlan likely couldn’t help but rile him a little bit. She knew he was well aware of the former commander’s reputation for calm competence and resolve under fire, so seeing him flustered and fidgety over a simple dinner with his girlfriend’s master was probably just too much to resist.

He gave the poor man a slightly apologetic smile, reaching over to clap him gently on the shoulder. “I’m glad, truly,” he said. “I can’t imagine anyone who would do a better job watching out for her than you.”

Bly _blushed_ , his tan skin turning a glowing russet. By the force, he was adorable. “Th-thank you sir,” he stammered. “I know she can take care of herself just fine, but I’d still like to be there. As backup. If she needs it.” He coughed lightly, looking anywhere but at Quinlan or Aayla, and Aayla felt her heart warm at the earnest, protective care radiating off of him. He was so giving, it was a struggle sometimes to make sure he took heed of his own needs as well as he did hers.

Aayla sent a wave of affection across their bond towards Quinlan, a smile she knew was completely besotted toward Bly, and waved both of them into the kitchen. “If you’re _quite_ done with your airlock talk,” she said with amusement, “It’s time for dinner.”

Quinlan released Bly’s shoulder and followed Aayla into the other room, obviously letting Bly collect himself for a moment before joining them. The small kitchen table was laden with a veritable feast of traditional foods from Ryloth with a scattering of dishes common in the temple, and Aayla delighted at the swell of her master’s appreciation. She remembered fondly his attempts to compliment her first few disasters when she started learning to cook, and his genuine relief once she actually started getting good at it. Bly clumsily projected a wave of awed delight at the sight of the food as he stepped in behind her. She gave his mind a soft touch of thanks as they all settled around the table, Quinlan comfortably, Aayla happily, and Bly still a bit awkwardly but much more relaxed than he had been.

Aayla paused for a moment, just looking between Quinlan and Bly with her heart in her eyes and her lekku curling with pleasure at their company. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Both of you, for coming tonight.”

Aayla felt a pang of sadness from her master. He was no doubt remembering a time when dinners like this were the norm, rather than an unexpected pleasure. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said brightly, his presence in their bond quickly returning to one of peaceful warmth and affection.

Aayla’s heart felt overflowing with happiness, sitting at her small table with her two favorite people in the galaxy. It had been so long since she could just...sit and enjoy a meal with her loved ones, without the weight of the war hanging over their heads. Every meal she had _ever_ shared with Bly had included at least some discussion of war strategy or logistics. There would be time now for more meals like this, with peace finally at hand. She would make sure of it.

The meal passed with quiet conversation and soft laughter, and she basked in the warm feelings filling her quarters. She knew they would be echoing through the rooms for weeks to come, if not months. She was tempted to linger over her dessert just to prolong the experience, but she could sense Bly’s nervous anticipation focused on the gift he brought for her, so she refrained. Her boys tried to insist on cleaning the dishes, but she herded them back out to the sitting room. They would keep until morning.

Gently pushing them toward the couch, she rifled through the small pile of packages under the wroshyr tree until she found their names, tossing Quinlan’s without looking at him but getting up to hand Bly’s over with a smile. She ignored her master’s mock-offended huff, and went back to grab her own gifts, one from each of them. The rest of the packages would be handed out to friends as they returned to the temple.

With a mischievous grin, she cocked a brow at Bly, ignoring his pleading glances between his gift and her face. “Well?” she asked teasingly. “Aren’t you going to open your presents?”

He gave her a wry smile of his own, resigned to her making him wait, and turned to his gifts. He cast a quick, uncertain glance at Quinlan, clearly still not quite confident in his good opinion, and obviously decided to get that one over with first. Meticulous as always he peeled up the edges of the wrapping neatly, without tearing it, and opened the large, flat box inside to reveal heavy, embroidered fabric with a long piece of tooled and stained leather folded on top.

Pulling them out of the box, Bly held up a blue vest with golden yellow embroidery along the edges that echoed the swirling design on Aayla’s door. Bly brushed his fingers against the threads, swallowing thickly, then set it down with a deep breath and picked up the leather. It was stained dark, with the same design engraved into it and painted in gold and a lighter blue. There was a matching sheath for a vibroblade hanging from one side. Aayla had to close her eyes for a moment against the storm of confusion and feelings of unworthiness of such a lovely gift.

“Sir…” Bly said quietly, glancing over at Quinlan as Aayla looked up again. “This is—it’s beautiful, but it’s far too much.”

Her master’s smile grew a little sad at the edges. “It’s less than you deserve, Bly,” he said firmly. “You’ve been there for my padawan when I couldn’t be, and your support has been unwavering this whole time. Please accept the gifts, it’s the least you’re owed after your service.”

Bly twitched, as though he wanted to argue, but Aayla noted that his hands were clenched on the belt, his thumb running across the engraving unconsciously. She gave her master a wordless burst of pride and love across their bond, which he returned in full, and started opening one of her own gifts to pull focus off of Bly long enough for him to recover his composure. With a quick, sly smile at Bly she chose the one from her master, delighting in his small huff of impatience.

Unlike Bly, she did _not_ carefully open the wrapping, tearing it off with abandon and tossing the pieces aside. Her box also had a pile of fabric and folded leather, but instead of a blue vest it was a gold top in her typical style, with dark blue embroidery. The embroidery was a solid band of blue down the center, with a subtle raised pattern in the same color that echoed the pattern on Bly’s vest. The leather, stained the same color as Bly’s belt, was a new set of lekku wrappings with delicate engraving, a hint of gold painted in the thin lines.

Aayla curled her lekku happily, running the tips of her fingers over the pattern on the top. “They’re beautiful, Master,” she murmured. Ignoring the distinctly smug tone Quinlan’s presence acquired, she gestured at the gifts in his lap demandingly. “Go on, it’s your turn.”

“Yes, yes,” he said with a roll of his eyes. Like Aayla, he promptly shredded the paper on Bly’s gift, a long cylinder with a cap on each end. With Bly next to him once again tightening his fingers on the belt in his hands, likely to keep them from fidgeting, Quinlan popped the cap off one side of the tube and slid out a roll of stiff fabric. With a quirk of his brow he unrolled it, then froze utterly, his eyes wide. “Bly, what—did you _paint_ this?”

Bly cleared his throat, a blush rising on his face. “Ah. Yes, Sir. Quinlan, sorry. I thought—well, you’re apart often for missions, so I thought perhaps…” he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

Aayla, consumed with curiosity but unwilling to _show_ it, decided to just open her own cylindrical package, shredding off the lovely, shimmery gold paper and popping the cap with haste. She slid her own fabric out and unrolled it to find...her master. It was a portrait, a perfect likeness but with a tender, soft feel to it. The stripe of his qukuuf was rendered with a faint glimmer, like actual gold in the pigment. His expression was sly and confident, and his eyes were warm.

Aayla felt her own eyes gloss over as she stared at it, rapt. “Bly…Bly this is _beautiful_.” She had seen him sketching now and then, of course, but he’d never offered to show anything to her and she hadn’t wanted to pry, despite her curiousity. The clones had so little privacy in general, she would never think of attempting to get a peek at something any of them weren’t offering to her, especially her commander.

She looked over to see the blush had completely taken over his face, and her delight at his embarrassed pleasure forced the tears back before they fell. “Thank you, my dear,” she said with all the warmth she could muster. “I love it.” I love _you_ , she didn’t say, not wanting to utterly mortify him in front of her master. She would tell him again later, when they were alone.

Bly cleared his throat again, refolding the vest on his lap with careful hands and not looking at either of them. “I’m glad,” he said quietly.

She exchanged glances with her master, the two of them silently agreeing to give him a moment. Quinlan methodically peeled the shiny green paper off of Aayla's gift to him in one long strip, flipping the long, narrow box over in his hands as he went. Underneath the wrapping was a polished wooden case, carved with traditional kiffar geometric patterns. He paused, resting his bare fingers on the wood, and glanced up at her with a soft, proud smile, clearly reading the feelings she was projecting as she carved it, then flipped the small latch and opened the box. Inside was the mottled green-brown shape of a chindikalu resting on a bed of dark brown velvet.

Quinlan’s delighted grin at the sight was all the thanks Aayla needed, but the burst of love/gratitude/affection that came along with it was a nice bonus. “Now that you’re going to have at least a little free time every now and then, I thought you might want to start playing again,” she said.

He laughed a little, an edge of faintly startled realization to it. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right, it’s been far too long.” He brushed his fingers along the chindikalu and added with a warm smile, “Thank you.”

Feeling slightly smug over her master’s reaction, Aayla turned her eyes to Bly, holding the last unwrapped gift in his hands. She wasn’t overly worried that he wouldn’t _like_ it, but she was concerned that he would feel as though it were too much, especially after her master’s offering. She nodded at him encouragingly, hiding her hint of fretting, and held her breath as he carefully uncovered the small box from its shimmering blue paper. It, too, was lovingly carved wood, a pale gold with subtle red grain that Bly clearly appreciated, judging by the soft touch of his fingers as he felt the smooth surface.

With one last hesitant glance up at her, he flipped open the small latch. Inside were a pair of beautiful gold ear cuffs, one etched with a single stripe down the center and one with the entire surface carved with a faint tracing of lines. Her lines, the same pattern she’d chosen for the symbol on her door. His breath caught in his throat, his face a blank front for a veritable storm of awe and love and that lingering lack of self-worth that would make Aayla weep if she let it.

Perceptive as always, her master quietly excused himself with the bottle of brandy that Bly had brought with him to go get some glasses. Aayla took his place on the couch, pressing her shoulder against Bly’s as he struggled with his composure, a silent offer of support. He pressed back, his jaw working as he wrestled with whatever he wanted to say.

After a long moment of silence, broken only by Quinlan’s deliberately noisy rummaging in her cupboards for glasses, Bly let out a quiet, shuddering breath. “I—” He paused, swallowed, then started again, his voice rough with emotion, gaze still locked on the contents of the little box. “Show me how they go on?”

“Oh, my Bly,” Aayla murmured, heart aching with pride, leaning over to press her forehead against his temple. “I would love to.”

* * *


End file.
